


Sacrifice

by a_dean_girl (WincestOTP)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied Child Abuse, Implied Child Death, gencest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 18:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21396880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestOTP/pseuds/a_dean_girl
Summary: Summary: Sam and Dean are out on the road cleaning up God's mess (again) when they get an unusual email about a potential case. Meanwhile, Cass told Sam and Dean he was leaving and no one has heard from him since...except that Sam keeps having these dreams.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I struggled with this story a lot. When I first began writing, I picked Hawaii for a variety of reasons, but as I continued to write and learn I realized I wasn't entirely comfortable with ripping apart another culture's mythology and beliefs and sewing it back together to suit my needs. However, I had already reached the point in the story where going back was impossible if I was going to meet deadlines. So I apologize in advance for any offense the story might give native Hawaiians. This story does not portray their myths, legends, religious beliefs, or culture accurately, nor is it intended to. 
> 
> A/N 2: Thank you to WincestOTP for posting this on AO3 so that more people can enjoy it. 
> 
> A/N 3: Thank you to beesareawesome for their patience with me as I fumbled through posting my first challenge, and for the amazing art they created for this story. I don't think it's quite what they were expecting, but they were supportive the whole time.

Author: a_dean_girl  
Artist: beesareawesome  
Rating: Gen  
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Kevin  
Warnings: Minor character death (referenced), child abuse (referenced), angst, but also schmoop  
Spoilers: None

_Pain._

Sharp and shining, the ache in his shoulders the most intense but still not able to cut through the fog in his mind, not entirely. He lifts his head, wobbly and weak, and recognition dawns. 

He’s in the nest. That’s what they call it, anyway, because for millenia angels have been born with wings, ever since humans decided they should. The flesh and bone they’re hatched with is, in essence, a secondary egg sack, reabsorbed within a few hours or days at most, feeding their grace and giving them strength. There are two other eggs here, and a scattering of broken shells, a far cry from the vast numbers Castiel remembers from his birth and past rebirths. 

Castiel shouldn’t be awake, not yet. He’s only been in torpor for a few weeks at most he thinks. Not the months he is owed. That he needs. Something has dragged him from his shell, forced him back to consciousness far sooner than was ever intended. He needed rest, time to recuperate, time to regenerate his grace, time someone has stolen from him--instead he can scarcely think through the lassitude of interrupted torpor. 

The presence of another touches his mind and his wings unfurl on instinct, rising out behind him. They’re ragged and torn, much as they’d been before he entered torpor, and he staggers under their weight. 

“Why?” he asks, voice raspy and hoarse. “Why did you wake me so soon?”

“We have need of you.” Calm, cool, what he has come to associate with feminine, though angels have no gender. “The Great Machine is dying, as you know, because of the angels you slaughtered. We cannot afford to lose you to torpor.”

“But my grace is depleted,” Castiel argues indignantly. “I must rest if I am to continue--”

“You are the strongest of us that remain.” Light floods the room as the true form of the angel is revealed, but it flickers weakly. Fluctuates as though the angel before him is struggling for control. “We cannot allow you your allotted time, not when everything we hold dear, everything we fight for, is at stake. You will give your grace to power the Great Machine so that others--those who have given nearly everything--may come to their rest.” The form wavers and splits into three separate beams. “We will escort you to the eternal fire.” 

“No.” Castiel shakes his head frantically, anger and horror giving him strength. “No. I won’t.” 

Rage echoes through the room, through his mind, hot and fierce. “You brought this upon us all! You chose to murder your brothers, you chose to put us all in danger. You _will_ take your place.”

Castiel screams as the other angels surround him, stripping him of his solid form with brutal efficiency, but he cannot shake them off. His true form breaks free, solid and unwavering, a towering wave of light that is still dwarfed by the cold, pale glow of the eternal fire--the pillar of grace that powers all of heaven, maintaining the boundaries and borders and defenses of billions of innocent, beautiful souls. Half a dozen shapes float in the light, weightless and beautiful, wings and arms outspread as the weight of human belief overwhelms their true forms. Castiel screams again, fights against his brothers in a last desperate attempt to escape before he’s thrust into the torrent. 

******************************************************

Dean yawns, sipping from the cup of coffee in one hand, his other hand rubbing the short bristles of his hair lazily. He slaps Sam on the shoulder as he passes into the shabby motel bathroom, startling him out of his research reverie. 

“Coffee,” he grunts, handing Sam the cup. Sam takes it absently, making a face at the unsweetened, bitter taste but swallowing obediently before handing it back. Dean finishes the cup and tosses it into the wastebasket in the cramped bathroom. They both miss the coffee machine in the bunker when they’re on the road, but Dean thinks he misses the huge locker room style bathrooms even more. 

Sam sits back with an audible sigh when he hears the shower come on, chewing his lip as he tries to make heads or tails of what he’s reading. After the third time through, he shakes his head and stands up to start packing. He’ll talk to Dean about it when he’s done in the shower, but in the meantime, two things are clear--they need to get home as soon as possible and it’s his duty as a little brother to tease the hell out of Dean over this. 

Dean picks up on Sam’s mood as soon as he comes out of the bathroom. Sam’s clearly anxious about something--he’s been chewing on his lip again, and he’s hunched over his laptop the way he does when his stress levels are high and the tension makes his back ache. He also found time to get breakfast while Dean was in the shower, and it’s all Dean’s favorites--a dead giveaway. 

Still, there’s nothing Dean likes better than a good repression. If Sam wants to talk, he will. Until then Dean’s perfectly content to keep an eye on him and wait. 

“So something’s come up.” Sam waits until Dean has a mouthful of breakfast burrito before he decides not to make Dean wait. Like the good big brother he is, Dean grins at him with a mouthful of well-chewed bright green and red peppers and onions before raising a questioning eyebrow. 

Sam, predictably, turns his own shade of green before continuing. “I got an email about a potential case--sent to the email address I set up for the Lebanon branch of the Men of Letters.”

Dean sits up and swallows, putting down his breakfast to listen. “Well, that’s kind of what we wanted it for, right? Sort of put out feelers, get a little more organized?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, but this is a little weird. Apparently there are other American branches besides ours, and they don’t seem to be aware that this branch of the Men of Letters is defunct. The email is kind of a ‘nice to see you’ve joined the 21st century, sorry it’s been seventy years since we talked, by the way something’s come up’ sort of thing.”

“So what’s the catch?” Dean asks bluntly. No point in beating around the bush at this point, and Sam’s guilty expression tells him there is indeed a bush being beaten here. 

“Well...this MoL branch is in Hawaii.” Sam sneaks a glance at him from under the bangs he doesn’t have anymore, unconscious gesture that Dean shouldn’t find adorable but he does. Sam’s still his baby brother, he’s allowed. 

Dean’s good mood evaporates. “Hawaii?”

Sam snickers at Dean’s half panicked expression, but doesn’t make him suffer long. 

“Don’t worry, there’s no need for airplanes or boats...unless you’re willing to go on a tropical vacation? You know, sandy white beaches, palm trees, sunscreen everywhere...the perfect getaway.” Sam’s dimples flash as he teases, but Dean’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t even know how wistful he sounds. He feels like a chickenshit asshole for the way his stomach drops and his hands want to shake at the thought of getting on another plane, but he doesn’t think he can do it. 

“Well, since Cass has gone walkabout or whatever it was he said he was doing, how are we going to get there without a plane or a boat?” 

“We don’t have to,” Sam says, and turns the laptop to face Dean. He points to a line in the email he’d been reading. “They’re coming here. In fact, they’ll be here tomorrow.” 

“Here? Tomorrow? What the hell?” Dean sounds as surprised as Sam felt when he read the email. 

“Well, to Lebanon. I only just found out.” Sam shrugs helplessly. “They were pretty upset when I told them that all of the senior members are dead and the entire bunker is in the hands of a couple of untrained Legacies.”

“Yeah, well. If they were that upset they should have picked up the damned phone sometime in the last seventy years,” Dean grouses, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess we’d better start with what the hell is going on and why their hunters--since they apparently have them--can’t take care of it themselves.” 

“They sent me a file,” Sam says, relieved that Dean is willing to help--not that there was any real doubt. That’s just who his brother is, and Sam loves him for it. He opens the folder where the info is saved then stands, stretching. “You look it over while I’m in the shower, then we’d better get going. We’ve still got a ways to go before Lebanon.” 

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean says distractedly. He misses Sam’s fond smile--Dean bitches about research, but loves learning and problem solving and helping people, so it’s no surprise to Sam that he’s already engrossed in the unusual case. Sam stretches again, cracking his back and earning a muttered _gross, Sam_ from Dean and leaves him to it. 

Once they get on the road, Dean immediately brings up the case. “So let me get this straight. There are literal dragons in Hawaii--”

“They call them mo-o,” Sam corrects, hoping he’s pronouncing it right. 

“Right,” Dean says. “Dragons. And they think that someone stole a baby dragon and brought it here to the continental US?”

“That’s what they said. And they’re calling on us, as the branch of the Men of Letters closest to where they think it's being hidden, to help them get the baby back before the parents start really wreaking havoc.” To Sam’s surprise, Dean’s lips curve up in an excited grin. 

“Dragons. Real dragons. Like, the big fire--”

“--water--”

“--breathing kind of dragon. I wonder if this kind hordes treasure, too?”

Sam shakes his head, smiling. There’s no telling what will catch Dean’s imagination, but Sam’s glad he’s happy about taking on this case. “It doesn’t seem like it, from what I’m reading. But I’m sure the Hawaiian hunters will fill us in on the details.”

The miles slip away. Dean puts on his favorite cassette after the radio station craps out, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and humming along with his favorite parts. Sam reads everything he can find about Hawaiian dragons and spirits, enjoying the companionable silence. They stop for lunch eventually at a Chinese restaurant Dean remembers from the last time they were out this way, and Sam grumbles a bit over the lack of healthy options as befits his role of little brother. Their waitress brings them free ice cream _on the house, she says, beaming at them_, and Dean just enjoys it--he stopped grumbling about random people mistaking them for a couple years ago. 

Back on the road, Sam pulls off his overshirt and tucks it under his head so he can doze comfortably. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and grins to himself, waiting for Dean’s ritual warning not to get face prints or drool on his baby. But it never comes, and instead Sam dozes off to the light brush of Dean’s fingers on his shoulder and the quiet sounds of soft rock coming from Baby’s speakers. 

_Cold. That’s the first sensation Sam recognizes. Bitter, bone shattering cold that somehow doesn’t touch his skin at all. The second is despair, because Sam knows this feeling. He’s been here before. The Cage, the Pit--whatever you want to call it, Sam knows when he’s in the presence of an angel’s raw grace. He tries to move, tries to scream, but he can’t, he’s caught--held like a fly in amber, only cold. So very cold._

Sam wakes with a scream fighting to escape his clenched teeth. Dean’s guiding the Impala into the bunker’s underground garage--thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed Sam’s nightmare. Sam shudders again, eager to leave the cold of his nightmare for the warmth of _home_. 

They spend the next few hours getting reacquainted with the bunker. They’d been out on the road for longer than they’d intended by a couple of weeks, one case bleeding into another as they painstakingly track down the remaining monsters from Chuck’s temper tantrum, and now there’s a bit of a mess to clean up in the kitchen. The bunker mostly keeps itself dusted and germ free, but apparently it draws the line at removing takeout Darwinism and milk that’s three weeks out of date from the refrigerator. Dean makes a food run into town and Sam changes the sheets in the guest bedrooms, and it’s all so domestically blissful that Sam’s face feels permanently stuck in a ridiculous grin. 

It’s a quiet night, even after Dean gets back, with all his accompanying bustle and noise and _life_. Dean lights up any room he’s in, simply by existing, and Sam loves him for it, and for the way he draws Sam out of his thoughts. They go over the case again after they eat the pizza Dean had brought back with him, and when Sam checks his email again there’s another message from the Hawaiian Men of Letters, letting Sam and Dean know that they’ll be in Lebanon around 10am the next morning. Sam commandeers Dean’s assistance in digging out a few books he thinks might be helpful, but neither of the feel up to reading that night and they both turn in.

Sam misses the sound of Dean breathing in the bed next to him. He’d never admit it, Lucifer himself couldn’t drag that confession out of him, but it’s true, especially after weeks of sharing a motel room again. He tosses and turns and punches his pillow into a dozen different shapes, praying to a god he hopes won’t answer for a dreamless night’s sleep before he finally drifts off. 

He wakes up to an unfamiliar voice echoing through his room. “LKMOL, this is HMOL preparing for landing. Do you read? Repeat: LKMOL, this is HMOL preparing for landing. Please respond if you can hear us.”

Sam hears a frazzled “What the fuck?” from the direction of Dean’s room as the message repeats, and it suddenly dawns on him what he’s hearing. There’s a ham radio set in one of the rooms near the library and Sam stumbles in that direction, trying to shake the sleep from his brain. 

Dean’s there ahead of him, already speaking into the radio in a voice full of low, controlled panic. “Look, I’m telling you there is _not_ an airfield at the Lebanon Men of Letters facility. There may have been in the past but there’s nothing but overgrown field now!” 

“Understood, LKMOL. Please go to the control room and wait for instructions.” 

Dean throws his hands up, releasing the mike. “Jesus Christ, Sam--these idiots are going to kill themselves. Stay here--no, get your phone so we can talk. I’m going to the control room.”

Sam runs back to his room for his phone and returns, seating himself where Dean had been just before. “HMOL, this is LKMOL. We’re in the control room awaiting instructions. Proceed.” He dials Dean’s number and puts his phone on speaker. 

The mike crackles back to life immediately, and even through the static Sam thinks he hears relief. “Copy, LKMOL. Sitting dead center of the command panel, look to your left. There should be a button marked GARDEN. Press that button, please.” There’s a pause, and the voice comes back, this time definitely amused. “Then go outside and take a look at your overgrown field.”

“Did you get that, Dean?” Sam lets the mike drop, waiting anxiously for Dean’s response. He’s sure the HMOL can make it to another airfield if they have to, but this whole situation has him on edge. 

“Got it,” Dean says from the doorway. “Come on, let’s go find out what the hell is going on.”

Sam follows Dean outside, around to the back of the bunker--and runs into Dean’s back when he stops abruptly. 

“Dean, what--” Sam says in annoyance, but _what_ is completely clear even before he finishes speaking. 

There’s no more field. It’s just...gone. Instead, there’s a short, neatly maintained runway and a building that’s probably a hanger. 

“What the _fuck_,” Dean breathes, and then Sam hears it--the buzz of a small plane or jet coming in closer. 

“I have no idea,” Sam admits, tugging on Dean’s arm. “But I”m thinking we should probably get off the runway.” 

Dean snaps out of his daze abruptly. “Yeah, no shit.” But instead of heading back to the relative safety of the bunker to wait for their guests, he heads straight for the newly revealed hanger. Sam sighs and jogs along behind him. The door is unlocked, and Dean steps through cautiously, but it’s a fairly typical garage--just built to airplane scale. They don’t have time to do much other than ogle it for a few moments before the buzzing from the plane begins getting louder. Sam stands in the doorway and watches in fascination as the plane touches down across the airstrip and roll towards them, startling when Dean grabs his arm. 

“Over here, Sam,” he says, tugging on Sam’s arm, and Sam follows as the entire wall he was leaning against shakes and shudders and starts to move like a giant garage door. “They’re gonna want that in here, not sitting out in a field.”

The plane slows but continues to roll majestically toward them, nosing through the opening as Sam and Dean watch. It’s quieter than Sam would have expected, especially in an enclosed space, and he finds himself holding his breath in anticipation as the door on the side of the aircraft opens and a man with blonde hair and fair skin looks out. 

“Little help here?” he says, pointing at the ground, and it takes a moment for Sam to realize the door is a dozen feet in the air. 

“Oh, right,” he stammers, and nudges Dean, who is not so subtly eyeing the engine closest to them. Together they find and wheel the mobile staircase over to the door, holding it in place when neither of them can figure out how to make it latch in place. 

“Thanks, man,” the stranger says with an easy smile, and they begin to disembark. 

Half an hour later everyone is seated around one of the big tables in the bunker. 

“I guess introductions are in order,” Dean says, breaking the ice. “I’m Dean Winchester and this is my brother, Sam. He’s the one you were emailing.”

Sam nods as everyone looks at him, hating the focused attention.

An older woman to Dean’s left speaks up. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Sam and Dean. Everyone in the hunting community has heard of you and the incredible things you’ve done. My name is Ailani Kane, and this is my team.” She goes around the table, introducing each team member. 

“Susan Kelikolio, our magic and lore expert. Michael Jameson, our weapons expert and pilot. And Kerr Tanaka specializes in magic, both theory and use. Now, I hate to be impolite, but we have very limited time in which to find the child. She needs to return to her mother soon, within the next week if possible.”

“Of course,” Sam says reassuringly. “Whatever we can do, we will. What do we need to know?”

“Sam’s our research guy,” Dean interrupts, holding up a hand. “It’s his favorite thing. I’m a little more practical. You guys were in the air a long time, what can I get you to drink?”

Sam smiles gratefully at Dean. He doesn’t _mean_to forget his manners, but he doesn’t get this kind of opportunity very often.

Turns out beer is good for everyone, and Dean returns from the kitchen with a cooler full of ice and beer in short order to find Sam next to Susan poring over a file with Kerr on the other side. Dean hands out the green bottles and passes around an ancient churchkey, watching as each of their guests opens their bottle and takes a drink--all except Ailani, who politely declines both the bottle and the bottle opener. Sam has that _look_ he gets when he’s learning, transcendently happy and in his element. No need for Dean to bring him into this before he has a handle on it, so Dean turns to Ailani and Michael instead.

“Looks like Sam has things under control--how about I show you to your rooms? There’s plenty of space here, singles and doubles, whichever you prefer.” 

“We’ll all take singles if you don’t mind,” Ailani says, standing with a bit of effort. “And I would like to rest after our flight--I’m not as young as I used to be.” 

“Right this way,” Dean says with a grand gesture. “To your right, you’ll see the library. Further down that hallway is the kitchen--there’s not too much in there, Sam and I were out on a case when you emailed--but you’re welcome to whatever we have.” He pauses to open a door. “The rooms are a bit sparse, but hopefully adequate.” 

“This will be fine, Dean. Thank you.” Ailani enters the room and sits on the narrow bed with relief. “Michael, would you please bring my bag down a bit later?” 

“Of course, Ailani.” Michael’s tone is respectful, almost deferential. He bows slightly before turning back to Dean with a smile. “I’m headed back to the plane, would you mind giving me a hand? For the most part, my job comes a little later, once we figure out who or what needs to go down.” 

Dean laughs a little. “I hear you--the only good research is Sam’s research. I’d much rather take care of the tactical and practical end of things. They’re probably going to be at this all day, so I can help you guys get settled in, no problem.”

Sam looks up as Dean passes through the room with the pilot--Michael, Sam thinks his name is. They’re both relaxed, talking animatedly, and Sam smiles softly to himself when he hears the word _horsepower_ in the midst of their chatter. He basks quietly in Dean’s faith, the knowledge that Dean trusts him to find out what they need to know about the case while he vets these strangers who’ve taken up residence in their home. The warmth settles around his heart as he returns his full attention to the woman next to him, doing his best to absorb this new information and fit the pieces together with what he already knows.

“Alright, so I have to know,” Dean says casually as he and Michael cross the former field, now a runway. “Where the hell was all this hiding?” 

Michael laughs. “It’s a spell, powered by the bunker. Now that we’re here and have a better handle on the situation, I’m pretty surprised that it was still up and running.”

“Yeah, Sam and I are still getting acclimated. It’s been a big change from living on the road, that’s for sure, and it’s not like there’s an instruction manual.” Dean pushes up the door to the hanger, gesturing for Michael to go first. “So how did you know there was an airfield here? And what to do?”

“Well, all these old installations are pretty much the same. A few customizations here and there, but the basic layouts generally match up.” Michael climbs the stairs into the plane, raising an eyebrow when Dean stays on the ground. “This airfield was put in not long before everything went quiet.”

“About that…” Dean catches the pilot’s case Michael tosses down to him, sets it out of the way just in time to catch the next one. “What the hell is up with that, anyway? You guys, the Brits--no one thought it was weird when the Lebanon guys just stopped answering the phone?”

Michael sticks his head out the door, waving to Dean to come up. “I want to run a few diagnostics since I’ve got the time. Come on up and take a look.”

Dean feels his stomach turn, beer sloshing queasily at the thought. He thinks about Sam’s wistful expression when he talked about taking a vacation, looks up at Michael, waiting expectantly. _The first step is always the hardest,_ he thinks, and puts his foot on the bottom step.

Sam isn’t sure how long they’ve been hunched over the table, just that his back is starting to ache the way it does right before Dean usually smacks him on the shoulder and tells him to stand up, move, breathe. Dean’s not here this time to remind him, but Sam sits back and stretches anyway, just in time to see Dean walk through the door with a stack of pizza boxes. 

“Break time,” Dean announces cheerfully. “Michael told me what everyone likes--he went to get Ailani, he’ll be back in a few.”

Sam watches Dean’s face as he talks. He’s probably the only person in the world who would notice the way Dean’s eyes tighten and the way he flinches ever so slightly when he says _Michael_, but Sam sees it, and when Michael comes back with Ailani, he speaks up. 

“Thanks--Michael, is it? Can I call you Mike?--I really appreciate you helping Dean out with lunch.” Sam smiles, genuinely grateful and hoping he’s not being too obvious. 

Michael looks briefly puzzled, glancing at Dean then back at Sam before returning his smile. “No problem. Most people call me Jameson, which is fine by me.”

“I think we’ve got some Jameson in the library,” Dean muses, eyes gleaming. He backtracks when he sees Sam’s stern expression, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe later, though.”

They talk about the case as they eat. 

“I know you read everything we emailed Sam before we arrived, Dean,” Ailani says, one slender finger tapping the hard copy of the file. She had declined the offered pizza, asking for a glass of water instead. “We’ve been filling in a few blanks for Sam while you and Jameson were working on the plane.”

Sam takes over. “Ailani and the others believe that a dragon child was stolen from a newly excavated temple at Mokuʻula in Halaina. They aren’t sure if it was an accident--a tourist or excavator picking up what they believed was a small statue and carrying it away, or if it was the deliberate theft of a mo’o child.”

“We can’t rule out either possibility,” Susan says, her expression grim. “But we are leaning toward deliberate kidnapping. Tourists aren’t allowed in the excavation site, and the archaeologists and other workers are all carefully vetted before being hired. We’ve used native Hawaiian workers whenever possible, men and women who understand the importance of this project and will approach the work with the proper reverence and dignity.” 

“Wait,” Dean interrupts. “Are we talking about a statue or something alive? Because no offense, but there’s a big difference.”

“The mo’o have slept for many years, Dean,” Ailani answers. “As you know, Gods gain power from the number and strength of their followers. When the royal complex was built over and her sacred ponds filled in, Kihawahine and the other mo’o went into a sort of stasis, sleeping until their people needed them again. Now, that time has come. The mo’o are awakening, and there are those who believe who wish to control them and their power. We believe one of them has taken a mo’o child, a young girl named Leinani, to what end we can only guess.”

“Probably not anything good,” Dean says bleakly. He pushes away his plate, appetite suddenly gone. “What makes you think they brought the kid here? Sam and I have been here several years, we’ve been in town enough to know that there’s not a big population. And we’ve definitely not seen evidence of any sort of dragon worshipping cult.” 

“I wasn’t sure until we arrived,” Ailani says. “But there can be no mistake.” Ailani reaches into the woven bag hanging from her chair pulls out a smooth stone. It’s a long oval, shaped to look like a scale, and it glows faintly with a pale, icy blue that reminds Sam of the blue light that shone from Lucifer’s eyes--and Michael’s as well. He throws a sharp look over at Dean and isn’t surprised to see his brother’s face pale and set. 

Susan tenses next to Sam, and Sam sees Kerr’s fist clench on the table where he’s sitting next to Dean. Jameson’s expression is grim and angry as he looks between the two brothers. 

“Ailani--” Kerr whispers, breaking the shocked silence. “Ailani, I--”

“I know,” she says softly. “_I know_. I didn’t want it to be true either.” She rubs her temples, small circular motions that Sam recognizes all too well, stress and pain marring her lovely features. 

“Can someone tell me and Sam what that is and what it means?” Dean sounds strained, on edge, and Sam doesn’t blame him. He has a feeling he knows what that light means, and if he’s right things are going to get ugly fast. 

“It means, Dean Winchester, that you and your brother are going to die slowly and painfully if you do not bring us the child you’ve stolen from me immediately.”

There’s a split second of stunned silence, followed by a brief, abortive explosion of movement. Dean’s gun is out and pointed at Kerr, caught mid-gesture and mid-spell. 

“Witch-killing bullets, bitch,” Dean snarls, and tosses Sam a smile so hard and bright and sharp that anyone else would bleed to death on the edges. “Good thing I kept those around, right, Sam?”

Sam doesn’t take his eyes off Ailani or his gun off Susan, trusting Dean to handle Jameson and Kerr. “Good thing, though I hope we won’t need them.” He takes a deep breath. “Ailana. Kihawahine? We do not have Leinani, your child. But we will do everything in our power to help you find her if you let us.”

“Lies,” Ailani hisses, and Sam’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the way the air around her shimmers and wavers, or the way his eyes keep insisting that her form is no longer entirely human. “This scale is from my own body. It glows with my lifeforce, and that of my bloodline. My child--”

“Ailani, neither I nor my brother have ever been to Hawaii,” Sam says desperately. “There’s no way we could have taken Leinani, I swear--”

“There is one under your command who can travel at will,” Ailani says coldly. “And he can transport others as well. His kind have done us harm before.”

“Under our--does she mean _Cass_?” Dean asks incredulously. “Lady, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but Cass won’t even do what we ask him to half the time, let alone follow our _commands_. Not to mention he hasn’t been able to do anything useful like teleport or even heal in years.” Dean shrugs, his gun never wavering. “We don’t even know where he is, he went on vacation weeks ago and we haven’t gotten so much as a postcard.” 

Ailani regards Dean with brilliant, jewel-like eyes. “The scale would not glow if she was not here!” Rage gathers around her, almost visible as she summons more power. 

“Ailani, please. Remember what we’re here for.” Jameson steps forward, ignoring Dean’s growl to _stay back_. “I know we have reasons not to trust these Legacies, but if you kill them now you won’t be strong enough to find Leinani.”

“Ailani, I don’t know what’s happening now with your daughter, or why you don’t think you can trust us,” Sam says earnestly, mustering as much sincerity as he can. “But we have been open and welcoming and honest, and all we want is to help you. Please let us.”

The room falls quiet as Ailani struggles to contain her rage and grief. Jameson rushes to her side, arm around her shoulders as he guides her back to her seat and kneels beside her. She slumps over the table, face in her hands, as Jameson speaks softly. At last he presses a gentle kiss against her temple and stands, though he doesn’t leave her side as she straightens.

“Please forgive my lack of control,” she says tiredly. “I have not been awake very long, and I am desperately worried for my daughter.” 

Sam shoots a quick look at Dean, who nods and tucks his gun away and warily takes his seat. Sam does the same, and the tension level in the room drops again, as much as it can when there’s a _dragon_ sitting at the dinner table. 

Dean is the first to break the silence. “So how exactly does this scale work?” he asks bluntly. “Since Sam and I _know_ the kid’s not here, something’s got to be off.”

“All beings contain life energy,” Kerr answers, still a little pale and not looking directly at Dean. “Everywhere we go, we leave traces behind. The more time we spend in one place, the more energy that place accrues. Your home would be full of your energy, even though it dissipates with time, the coffee shop you visit once a week not so much. This scale is attuned to Ailani’s life energy, and that of her descendants. For the scale to glow the way it did means that Leinani has definitely been here, and not just briefly.”

“But that’s impossible,” Sam says, frustrated. “No one but us has been here for any length of time in over 70 years.”

“Time does work strangely in some of the bunkers,” Susan says reluctantly. Her voice shakes a little as she continues, and Sam feels a prickle of guilt. “It’s possible that Leinani was here some time ago but their essence hasn’t faded.”

“If that’s the case, then is it also possible...Susan, you and Kerr mentioned that you thought the child had been taken recently from an archaeological dig. Is it possible she was taken before and no one knew?”

Susan glances over at Ailani, biting her lip. “I don’t know,” she admits. 

Ailani raises her head wearily. “It’s possible,” she says, voice low. “I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t feel my daughter being stolen from me, even to myself, but it’s possible.”

“We came here because my spell indicated this location on the map,” Kerr says. “And the fact that there’s bad blood between the Lebanon branch and basically every other Men of Letters group on the planet…”

“You mentioned that before,” Sam interrupts. “What exactly did our ancestors do?”

“When you join the Men of Letters, you’re assigned to a chapter,” Susan explains. “You’re bound to that group, you and your descendants. That’s how you and Dean became Legacies. And you’re bound to this location. It takes pretty powerful magic to sever that connection--it’s literally in your blood.” 

“And for whatever reason, this particular branch tends to produce members who are somewhat larger than life,” Jameson says, laughing a little. “Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Truth be told, there were some sighs of relief when it looked like this bloodline had died out, especially the Winchester line.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “That why you were dodging my questions earlier? And just where do Sam and I fall on that scale?” 

Jameson grins. “Hey, I didn’t want to get on your bad side right off the bat--and given that you just pulled a gun on a fucking _dragon_ I’d say I was right.” He shrugs. “Jury’s out on you and Sam. The two of you have done some crazy shit, but so far it seems to have mostly worked out okay. There are those who think you should be killed and those who think you should be applauded, but everyone agrees it’s good that your line will end with you.”

“So you came here thinking that Sam and I had stolen Ailani’s daughter, because our ancestors weren’t always the good guys.” Dean doesn’t sound very happy about that assessment.

“Yes.” Ailani sounds stronger, more sure of herself. “And because it would not be the first time someone from the Lebanon chapter tried to steal a dragon. The souls that maintain your homes grow weak and old after a time, just as your bodies do. When this branch was established one hundred and fifty years ago, the founders decided they didn’t want to sacrifice one of their own to power it. Instead, they sought out one of us. They knew that if they could bind one of our souls to this place, none of them would have to give up their own lives for a very long time.” She gives Sam and Dean a hard look. “They nearly succeeded but were driven off by our protectors and worshippers. Reparations and promises were made, promises that were clearly not intended to be kept.”

“You can’t blame us for things--”

“Dean--” Sam interrupts Dean’s aggrieved tirade. 

“We know that now,” Kerr says. “At least, we’re willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. It’s obvious that you are completely ignorant of your history and the Men of Letters.”

“Not entirely,” Dean says darkly, and Kerr swallows nervously. "What the hell do you mean there's a soul bound to this building? Are you saying that every time we run the A/C or turn on the stove we're draining away some poor sap's soul?"

"Yes. _Yes!_" Ailani interrupts, eyes gleaming with a touch of madness. "That's what they want to do to my daughter, my Leinani. You have to find her, before it's too late!" Mist starts to rise around her as she becomes more agitated, and Jameson nods frantically toward the hallway, signaling them all to leave the room. He stays behind, and the last thing Sam sees is his arms wrapped around her as she weeps.

Once out of the war room where they’d been gathered, Dean marches them straight to the library. 

“Sit,” he says curtly, and unsurprisingly Susan and Kerr drop onto the couch, looking somewhat nervous. Dean stalks over to the cabinet where he and Sam keep the whiskey, grabbing a bottle and four glasses that he slams on the table in front of them with a glower that would have turned most humans into puddles of terrified goo. Sam hides a smile. He’s the only one who knows how soft Dean really is. 

“Alright,” Dean orders. “Start talking. The _truth_ this time.”

Susan swallows nervously, picking up her glass with a shaky hand and downing half the amber liquid in one gulp. 

“We didn’t want to lie to you,” she says reluctantly. “We didn’t know Ailani would react so strongly to being here--we’d hoped to have time to look around a little before she brought out the scale.” 

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that? I think Sam and I would have noticed if there was a baby _dragon_ running around.” Dean sounds slightly less angry now that he’s getting some answers, but Susan’s face pales and she downs the rest of her drink. 

“It’s not quite that simple,” Kerr says quietly, taking over the story. “If what we think is true...it’s not a pretty story.” 

“Tell us what you think is happening,” Sam says encouragingly before Dean can snap at him. “Then tell us what we’re going to do about it.”

Between them, Kerr and Susan give Sam and Dean a brief history of their home. “Each hub has a soul bound to it, right from the very start,” Susan explains, warming to her subject. “A member from the founding chapter volunteers--and yes, it’s always a volunteer. Someone older, at the end of their life, because our souls can live on long after our physical bodies wear out. This way there’s always a transfer of knowledge, someone who knows our secrets and ways. After it’s bound, the soul remains aware for some time--usually several decades. Something like a house spirit. They can communicate with special devices placed around the building, and they keep all the spells and wards powered. Electricity, too, once that became more common. However, that awareness fades with its power. And by that time there is usually someone else ready to take their place.” 

“That’s kind of horrible,” Dean says with a shudder. “To be trapped like that while your life is slowly drained away.” 

Kerr shakes his head. “It’s not for everyone,” he agrees. “But our volunteers see it as a chance to remain with their families long past the time they would have died otherwise. In earlier times, it wasn’t uncommon for a bound soul to see their great-grandchildren become Men of Letters, something ordinarily unheard of for men and women of those times. Their spirits were revered and respected--it was considered a great honor to be chosen.”

“And this is what our--mine and Dean’s--ancestors wanted to do to Ailani’s child?” Sam can’t keep the horror from his voice. “How long can a dragon’s soul live?” 

Susan and Kerr exchange a worried look. “No one knows. But I have a feeling we’re going to find out.” 

Cold dread makes its way up Sam’s spine. “You think the raid didn’t fail,” he says slowly. “You think our ancestors stole the child and brought it back here after all.”

“It makes a lot of sense,” Susan says. “It explains why the scale glows and why Kerr’s magic brought us here. It explains why Ailani went into the earth--she was grief-stricken, and our shamans lulled her to sleep before she destroyed the villages she was sworn to protect in her madness. And it may help explain why the members of this branch have always been a bit...feral. You are bound to the soul of a dragon--a half mad, frightened, lonely child dragon. Who knows what that might do to someone?”

Sam glances over at Dean, who looks as speechless and stunned as Sam feels.

“Wow,” Dean says eventually. “I gotta say, I was not expecting any of that.”

“So how do we find out for sure if all of this really happened? And how do we free Ailani’s daughter if she’s here?” Sam pushes down the horror he feels at his ancestor’s actions. He may not have committed this crime himself, but he promises himself that they will set it right. 

“Better question,” Dean interrupts abruptly. “If we manage to get Leinani free, who’s going to take her place?”

Silence greets Dean’s question. Susan leans forward to refill her glass and Kerr’s before answering carefully. 

“Normally, it would be one of you, as Legacies who are already connected to this chapter,” she says, not looking at either of them. “But your souls are already bound to each other, so the spell would take you both, which is not ideal. However--” she holds up a hand to forestall Dean’s objections. “You’re not just Legacies, you’re the last two remaining Legacies. And it was decided when you moved in and reactivated this chapter that neither of you are suitable mentors for this branch.”

“Hey, now,” Dean objects mildly. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to be bound to a musty old building for the next fifty years, but that doesn’t mean he likes hearing that Sam isn’t good enough.

Kerr shrugs. “If we’re right, you’ve lived your entire lives under the influence of a dragon,” he says reasonably. “And we’re fairly certain that neither of you is entirely human at this point. We’ve had enough of that kind of influence.”

“But if not us, then who?” Sam asks, reaching for the bottle himself. He refills his glass and Dean’s, needing the extra warmth after Susan and Kerr’s chilling story. “And how are we going to verify that Leinani’s soul is bound here?” 

“We aren’t entirely sure,” Susan admits. “Normally, we’d just...ask. But she hasn’t responded to you living here, or her mother’s presence. We aren’t sure if she’s too weak or if there’s something--a spell, perhaps--preventing her from communicating. It would make sense that the founders of this branch wouldn’t want anyone to know what they’d done.”

“We have some ideas, some tests we can run,” Kerr adds. “We just need some time to set up and cast the spells.” 

“We can do that,” Sam says immediately. ”You’re welcome to anything here that you need, and Dean and I will do whatever we can to help.” 

Dean watches Sam take charge smoothly and efficiently with a quiet sense of pride. Michael’s intrusion into their lives had been nothing but horror, but if anything good had come out of that situation it was this--Sam’s renewed self confidence and willingness to let others see his strength. Dean waits, sipping his whiskey, until Sam is ready for him, nodding occasionally in unconscious approval as Sam assigns Kerr and Susan a room to work in, makes a list of the ingredients they will need for their spells, and discusses which books they might need to consult. 

“Dean, I’m going to grab some of these books then head into town for supplies. Will you check with Jameson and Ailani to see if there’s anything they want or need?” Sam’s voice is brisk, the question mark at the end of his request pure politeness. He turns inquiringly to Dean, then blushes when he sees the smile spreading over Dean’s face. 

“Sure, Sammy,” he says gently, none of the mockery he might have injected had they been alone showing in his voice. “Whatever you need.” He pushes to his feet, squeezing Sam’s shoulder as he passes. “You three do your thing.”

“I’ve got another idea too,” Sam says hesitantly. “Meet me downstairs in a few?”

Dean pauses in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “See ya in ten,” he agrees, curious about what Sam wants to discuss alone. 

Sam watches Dean go, slightly embarrassed by the way he'd taken over and ordered Dean around like a child. At least Dean hadn’t been offended. He stands up with a sigh, smiling at Susan and Kerr. "There's a room that should work for what you need on the next floor down," he says, moving toward the door. "Just follow me." They discuss the spells Kerr intends to try as they walk, and it's amazing to talk with people who understand the fascination of magic rather than fear it. Sam hopes he gets the chance to watch some of the casting and see first hand what benign human magic looks like.

Once they reach the dungeon, which Sam apologetically explains is the largest, quietest, emptiest room they've found so far, Sam leaves Susan and Kerr to set up and hurries back to his bedroom, eager to discuss his ideas.

Dean's already waiting for Sam when he gets there, hanging up his flannel shirt on the hook inside the door and shrugging into the one he'd left there last time. Sam doesn’t know how Dean had figured out that he slept better with something that belonged to him in his room, but he's grateful that Dean has abdicated his big brother teasing rights in favor of simply giving Sam what he needs. 

Once he's satisfied with his new flannel, Dean sprawls across Sam's bed, fluffing his pillows and grinning at Sam like he's daring him to object. Sam does, of course--Dean hadn't even taken off his boots, which meant a change of sheets before bedtime. 

"Really, Dean?" Sam asks with fond exasperation. Dean just shrugs, tucking his hands behind his head and looking supremely comfortable. 

"We have _got_ to get you a new mattress," he says casually, nodding toward the old fashioned looking radio on Sam's bookshelf. "This thing is a torture device."

Sam picks up on Dean's unspoken request and moves to turn on the device. "We could always use your room," he points out, and shivers at the hair raising rush of magic that fills the room. 

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asks quietly, even though Sam knows Dean can feel it too, thick and syrupy and suffocating, as though magic had replaced all the air in the room. Both he and Dean had become increasingly sensitive to magic of all sorts over the years thanks to their near constant exposure, and though this device looked--and sounded, to Dean's constant dismay--like a radio perpetually stuck in the 1950s, it was also a magical white noise generator. Anyone trying to listen to them via magic would get nothing but the greatest hits of the 30s, 40s, and 50s.

Sam nods, and Dean doesn’t waste any time. “So what’s your take?” he asks without preamble. “Can we trust them?”

“I want to,” Sam admits. “I get why they lied at first. There are so many stories about us out there, who knows what’s true and what isn’t? I kinda wish Cass was here to tell us whether or not they’re _still_ lying, though.”

“Jameson seems like a decent guy,” Dean says thoughtfully. “We didn’t talk much about this mess while you geeks were getting your research on, mostly just the plane and some of the kinda cool features we’ve been missing out on here in the bunker. Like a secret runway in the backyard.”

“Susan and Kerr seem alright, too,” Sam agrees. He paces around the small room aimlessly, touching things here and there. “They seem to care about Ailani and Leinani, and the spells we talked about don’t seem to be invasive or harmful--no sacrifice or demonic influence that I recognize. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on, though.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they came here to kill us if we didn’t cooperate,” Dean says, shrugging. “I don’t think they told us about the soul thing, or how evil our ancestors could be for shits and giggles, I think it was a warning.” 

“Is that how you just happened to have your gun loaded with witch-killing bullets?” Sam asks, laughing a little. He finally stops pacing, flops down on the bed next to Dean. The warmth of Dean’s arm pressed against his is welcome, reassuring. “You know, I might be able to get ahold of Cass, if you think he could help. We worked out a spell that will get his attention if he’s not around. I’ve never cast it, but it can’t hurt to try. We just need him here long enough to tell us if they’re lying or not, and maybe where the child is, and he can go back to his vacation.”

“Do it,” Dean says immediately. “He can get in their heads and tell us what’s going on.” Dean pauses, thinking. “You know...I wonder if Kevin is still hanging around? Think you can get in touch with him, maybe ask him to do a little spying?”

Sam nudges Dean with his elbow. “Now that’s a good idea. In fact…” Sam turns to Dean, excitement and hope on his face. “What if we could bind Kevin to the bunker instead of Jameson? He said he can’t go to heaven, and being here has to be better than hell. And I’m sure he’d like the chance to learn.”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean says carefully. “He died here. Not sure he’d want to be around those memories full time.” 

“You’re right,” Sam says heavily. He feels awful for even considering the possibility now. “I couldn’t ask him to do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Dean’s elbow finds Sam’s ribs, knocking the breath out of him as they both scramble for weapons. Despite that, Sam has his gun out first, pointed at the shadowy, wavery figure standing at the foot of the bed watching them.

“Kevin?” Dean says incredulously. “What the hell?”

Kevin’s ghost shrugs. “I can sort of tell when you’re talking about me,” he says, as though it’s nothing. “I mean, I don’t hear every time someone says ‘Kevin’, but when they’re talking about _me_, I can feel it. So I figured I’d stop by and see why my ears are burning.” 

Sam and Dean exchange a glance, and Sam slowly lowers his weapon. 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Sam says slowly, then winces when Kevin shrugs again.

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he points out, and sends a chair skidding across the floor. “Sorry, my control is usually a little better.” He concentrates for a moment and solidifies a little more before straddling the chair. “And I love a good story.”

Between them Sam and Dean give Kevin the rundown on their current situation. 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?” Kevin asks. “Not that I had anything better to do, but you were talking about me with intent.”

“Well. Apparently the bunker needs a soul to power it,” Sam tells him reluctantly. “As of right now, one of the men from the Lasilian Men of Letters is going to be bound here when the soul currently powering it passes on.”

“And you thought of me,” Kevin says slowly. He doesn’t sound angry or offended, much to Sam’s relief, only thoughtful. “What does being soul bound even mean?” 

“We don’t know, exactly,” Dean says. He’s still sprawled out on Sam’s bed, tapping Sam’s ankle occasionally with one booted foot in reassurance. “But the energy of your soul would power all the spells and wards on this place, as well as keep the electricity and wi-fi running. And I got the impression that you’d have access to a lot of the history of this place somehow as well as being able to communicate with whoever is living here.”

“That doesn’t sound all that bad, really,” Kevin says wistfully. “I miss being around people, I miss having things to do. This...this sounds almost like being alive again.”

“We understand if you don’t want to live here,” Sam says quickly. “If the memories of...what happened would be too much. _I_ understand.”

“I forgave _you_ a long time ago, Sam,” Kevin says firmly. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I’m more pissed at Dean than you, and at Castiel for letting the angels out of heaven to begin with. But you...you had the least part in what happened to me, Sam. You were a victim just as much as I was.” 

Sam wipes at his eyes, willing Dean not to see. “Thanks, Kevin. That means a lot to me. But Dean was just doing what he thought he had to, I get that. I hope you two can work things out.” 

“Hook me up with this gig and it’s water under the bridge,” Kevin promises solemnly. A slightly awkward silence ensues, and Sam does Dean the favor of pretending he doesn’t see his big brother blinking rapidly. 

“And by the way, I haven’t heard from Castiel in awhile,” Kevin says. “Either of you know what’s going on with him? He said he was going to sleep for awhile, but I didn’t think angels slept so I don’t know what he meant by that.”

“He told us something similar,” Dean admits. “We figured he just meant he needed a vacation.”

“I’ll see if I can get to him,” Kevin promises, and with that he’s gone. 

“Okay, well. That happened.” Dean looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Sam knows it’s not the mattress. “I’m gonna go chat with Jameson, you go do what you have to. And take care of my baby, you hear?”

Sam rolls his eyes the way he’s supposed to as he gets up and puts his shoes back on. “I swear you love that car more than me,” he teases, and Dean just shrugs. 

“Gotta take care of my girl,” he says with a smirk. “She’s gotten me out of more than a few tough scrapes.” 

They’re still bickering amiably when they part ways, Sam mentally calculating where he needs to go. He figures he might as well pick up what he needs to contact Cass while he’s in town, and some extra beer. He texts Dean to remind him to find out what Ailani eats. 

_**Anything she wants**_ Dean texts back immediately, and Sam rolls his eyes again even though Dean’s not there to see. His phone dings again a few minutes later with a list of requests and Sam smiles to himself. 

All in all it takes Sam a couple of hours to get everything they need. Luckily most of the spell components are common, and the more esoteric elements are things they have available in the bunker. Dean texts him every ten minutes or so, just random things to put Sam’s mind at ease about leaving him alone with a houseful of random strangers. But Sam doesn’t feel truly at ease again until he’s guiding the Impala back into the garage. Dean’s waiting there for him and they carry everything inside, easy companionship that means the world to Sam. 

Afterwards Dean cooks dinner while Sam checks on Susan and Kerr. They’re happy to show him the work they’ve done preparing for their spells later that evening--fortunately nothing that requires exotic ingredients or excessive time. Kerr walks him through the intricate drawings they’d chalked onto the floor, and Sam helps them lay out the candles and incense he’d picked up in town. 

“And this will help you contact Leinani’s soul?” Sam asks curiously. “Is this necessary any time someone wants to talk to the spirit bound to the chapter house?” 

Kerr shakes his head. “No, in a normal set up there are specific devices we use to contact the spirit, but we haven’t had any luck with those so far. Susan combined elements of several spells here--this will tell us if there’s a barrier between us and the soul bound here, and if so what it looks like so that we can go about dismantling it. If there isn’t a barrier, it should tell us a little about the soul--hopefully who it is, and if it’s human or not. And if there _is_ a spirit, which there really has to be for things to keep functioning, the spell should compel them to appear.” He hesitates, throwing an uneasy sidelong glance at Sam. “You should know that Ailani gave us some of her blood to power and shape the spell, to make it easier to pick up on whether or not it’s a dragon. That doesn’t make the spell dark magic in my opinion, but I’m well aware that hunters don’t always view magic users who work with blood magic kindly.”

Sam shrugs, though Kerr is right, it does make him uneasy. “As long as it was voluntary, that’s all that matters. This sounds like an incredibly complex spell, though. Are you sure it can do all this?” 

“Susan is one of the best researchers and spellers there is,” Kerr says seriously. “If she says this will work, I believe her.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Susan says, laughing, and Kerr smiles. “We’re almost done here, Sam. Everything is set up and ready for Kerr to begin tomorrow morning.” 

Kerr makes a face. “My only complaint about being a witch is the crazy hours we have to keep,” he gripes goodnaturedly. “But I’m definitely not going to complain about turning in early tonight. It’s been a hell of a day on top of a hell of a night on top of...you get the idea.” 

Sam laughs as he stands, offering Susan a hand up. All three of them step carefully through the intricately beautiful design on the floor. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

Unsurprisingly dinner is relatively quiet, everyone exhausted and tense after the long struggle to understand what’s going on. Ailani doesn’t join them, and Jameson doesn’t stay long, excusing himself to return to her side. 

“Is she okay?” Dean asks, mildly concerned. “She hasn’t eaten since she got here, and she didn’t look so good earlier.” 

“We think she’s dying,” Susan says softly. “It’s hard to say for sure, no one knows enough about her kind to recognize the symptoms, but she’s growing weaker by the day. We think that taking a new host and the loss of her daughter so close together were just too much for her.” 

“What about Jameson? What’s his role in all this?” Sam’s not a big fan of gossip, but at this point anything they know could prove useful. 

“The woman Ailani took as her vessel was his wife,” Kerr tells them, settling back. “It’s really their story to tell, but I don’t think Jameson will mind us sharing the basics.” 

“Dragons can shapeshift or they can take a host,” Susan says, continuing the story. “They are similar to angels in that they usually prefer a specific bloodline. In the past, certain children were dedicated to the family’s patron dragon in case they were needed, but after the dragons went to earth the tradition was forgotten. When Ailani awoke, she took the first member of her family that she found as her vessel.” 

“And her family just accepted that? What the hell.” There’s genuine anger in Dean’s voice, no doubt in part linked to his and Sam’s experiences, as well as the terrible damage they’ve seen wrought on other families. 

“In many families it’s an honor,” Kerr says. “Ailani’s family has been part of the Men of Letters since before there was a Men of Letters in our land. We came together in part because of the dragons and our connection to them, and have used that connection and the strength it brings our lines to keep our people safe. The soul bound to our home remembers our past. Jameson might be an outsider, but he respects our traditions. He knows how much it means to all of us that Ailani is with us again, even for a short time.”

“That’s why he’s willing to be bound here, isn’t it?” Sam asks softly. “He didn’t want to live without her.”

“I think so,” Susan says reluctantly. It’s clear they’ve reached the end of what they’re willing to share. “But that’s between him and Ailani.”

“He may not need to,” Dean says seriously. “We talked to a...well, a friend of ours. Who is dead. He’s kind of stuck in the Veil through no fault of his own, and he’s not adverse to taking on the job.” 

Kerr looks to Susan, who shrugs. “Technically, I guess it’s possible. It’s not done very often for obvious reasons--we can’t call up a ghost from a hundred years ago and expect them to integrate and interact with twenty-first century technology and hunters. But if your friend is still self aware and willing to do the job, then I sure don’t see why we couldn’t.” Both of them decidedly happier about the prospect of saving their friend. 

“We’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” Sam says, his heart feeling lighter with the knowledge that even if they can’t save Ailani or her daughter, they might still save Jameson. “I’m curious, have either of you met Ailani’s daughter?”

“No, I never met Leinani,” Susan says, smiling a little wistfully. “Her name means _beautiful child_. I remember my great-grandmother used to tell stories about a little girl who would sometimes come to play with her in the garden pool. No one knew who she belonged to, but she was kind and happy and full of life. One day she stopped coming to play, and my great-grandmother never knew what happened to her. She wondered for the rest of her life. Now I think it probably was Leinani, and that she went to earth--became stone--when her mother did.” 

“Hopefully in the morning we’ll find out,” Sam says. He reaches over to pat her hand comfortingly. It feels a little awkward, but she smiles gratefully. “”Let me show you where your rooms are--I think we were researching earlier when Dean was showing Jameson and Ailani around. We could all use a little sleep at this point.”

Once Susan and Kerr are in their rooms, Dean and Sam head back to Sam’s room so that they can talk privately. Despite Sam’s intention to get a good night’s sleep, they end up discussing their case until late in the night. Sam eventually falls asleep to the sounds of forties band music and Dean’s shoulder pressed against his, still thinking about Kevin and dragons and angels. 

He dreams. 

It’s cold again. Pale blue cold that eats away at him, turns his very bones to ice. The kind of cold that no amount of blankets can reach, the kind that comes from inside. Sam knows this cold, he remembers it with dread and terror, but when he looks for Lucifer he’s nowhere to be seen. There’s only the light. Above him he can see another figure caught in the light, trapped. This figure has wings stretching out from it’s bowed back, head thrown back in an endless scream. A voice whispers in Sam’s mind, panicked and low. _SamSamSamSam_ but try as he might Sam can’t make out anything else.

He’s still cold when he wakes up.

Sam goes for a run, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. It’s not uncommon for him to dream about his time in the Cage, but this dream has gotten under his skin. It’s never been quite like this before, but he remembers, bitterly, the other times he’s thought his dreams had meaning and he works even harder to push the memories away.

Dean has coffee going in the kitchen when Sam gets back, hands him a cup as Sam passes through on his way to get cleaned up. 

“Ahh. I’ve missed having this out on the road.” He grins at Dean, inhaling deeply. “Who would have thought, you know?” 

“This is the life,” Dean agrees. He tips his cup to Sam and grins back. “Doesn’t even need whiskey.”

Susan and Kerr join Sam and Dean while they’re eating breakfast, and Dean quickly serves up a plate of pancakes, bacon and eggs for each of them as they go over the steps for the spell again. 

“Part of what the spell will do is make the magic in the area visible,” Kerr explains. “I’ve seen the magic that connects a soul to a Men of Letters house before, and it is usually fairly simple because the spirit wants to be there--they aren’t trying to escape. I expect the magic around Leinani--if that’s who is here--will be much denser and thicker. I may have to cut some of the spells loose to reach her, so don’t be surprised if the lights go out.”

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, that’s not going to cause a lockdown or anything, is it? Because me and Sam, we already went through that once. And we’re not too keen on doing it again.”

Kerr shakes his head. “It shouldn’t, no. But I won’t object to leaving a door propped open if you want.”

Sam and Dean both laugh, but Sam makes a mental note to do just that. 

By unspoken agreement, they all head downstairs to where the spell is laid out. Dean stops by the room Ailani and Jameson are sharing with a plate of food just in case either of them wants to eat and to let them know what’s happening. Ailani stirs at the news, sitting up with obvious effort. 

“I want to be there,” she says, voice trembling with effort. “I need to see--”

“Eat first,” Jameson says quietly, firmly. “If you eat, then we can go. Please, Ailani. You have to take care of yourself.” 

Dean leaves them to work out the terms of their agreement, all too familiar with these types of arguments. Memories of coaxing Sam to eat even a little during the Trials resurface, and he does his best to push them away. That’s over now. Done with. Deep breath and move on. He’s still telling himself that when he steps into the room where Kerr is casting and stops to stare.

The room is full of light, low and diffuse and seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. Sam, Susan and Kerr are standing around the edges of the circle Kerr had drawn the previous day, and Dean can see the light growing thicker along the outer line of the circle, creating a shimmering wall of force around the inner circle. And inside, Dean can see the lines of magic that Kerr was talking about at breakfast, a living web of magic going off in every direction from a central point. Dean steps closer, trying to see the centerpoint of the web, and when he does, he feels sick. 

It’s a child. 

They’d been expecting it, of course. And he’s glad that Ailani may be able to get some closure after all these years. But the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach doesn’t go away, because it’s a _child_. Some sick bastard stole a child--dragon or no--and hooked them up to a machine in a foreign country and left them to die. He doesn’t realize how close he’s gotten to the circle until Sam’s hand closes gently on his arm. 

“Dean,” he whispers. “I know it’s hard. But look what Kerr is doing. He’s setting her free.” 

It’s true. The web of magic practically cocooning her is falling away, one piece at a time. And now Dean can see something else, too. 

“Kevin?” 

Kevin looks up from inside the circle. He’s standing in one of the areas Kerr had cleared, and he looks startlingly solid, as though the magic surrounding him had lent him strength. Even from where he’s standing Dean can see that there are tears in his eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Kevin whispers. He reaches out to touch Leinani, but can’t make it through the ropes of magic. His presence seems to reach her anyway, though, and she stirs. “You have to get her out. Please.” 

“Mama?” she says sleepily. She tries to sit up but the magic is still too tight around her. “Mama?” she sobs. “Mama!” 

Sam’s grip on Dean’s arm isn’t gentle anymore, fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to bruise. Kerr is working faster now, slicing frantically through the ropes without regard to their connections, intent only on setting the child free. At last he’s created a space wide enough for her to sit up and for Kevin to reach her. 

“Hey, hey,” Kevin says soothingly. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” He opens his arms and she immediately curls up in his lap. 

“I want to go home,” she says, crying. “Please, I just want to go home.” 

Kevin rocks her gently, fingers moving over her hair in long, soothing strokes. “Soon, little one. Soon.” He looks at Sam and Dean pleadingly, then his eyes shift to someone behind him. 

“Leinani?” 

The little girl lifts her head. “Mama?” The hope in her voice, weak and thin, breaks Dean’s heart. 

Ailani stumbles forward, hand outstretched. “Leinani, sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m right here.” 

Kerr staggers, clearly exhausted, as the last strand of the magical webbing obscuring Leinani falls away. Dean can see that she’s still connected to the house, but the lines move easily with her as she reaches for her mother. 

Ailani turns to Kerr beseechingly and he nods, his expression strained. The spell is collapsing around them, the light dissipating and the complex webs feeding from Leinani to the rest of the house fading away, but Leinani is still visible as Ailani rushes to meet her. The little girl climbs down from Kevin’s lap, her wan face alight with joy at seeing her mother again, but after a few tottering steps away from Kevin she starts to fade away. That’s when Dean realizes that Kevin must be feeding her his energy. He catches Kevin’s eyes and nods respectfully as Kevin follows Ailani and Leinani out of the room. 

“Dean.” Sam sounds as heartbroken as Dean feels. Dean pulls him into a hug, warm and reassuring. “How could they do this?” he asks, and Dean wishes he could get his hands on the monsters who thought this was acceptable. Just for a few minutes. 

“I don’t know,” he says heavily. “But at least Ailani and Leinani had the chance to see each other again before the end.”

“I’m glad we were able to give them that at least,” Sam agrees. He turns to Kerr, who is leaning heavily on Susan. “Do we know what’s going to happen now?”

Kerr and Susan walk slowly toward the door, and Sam hastens to take Kerr’s other arm. “Now we have to bind your friend Kevin--I assume that was the spirit you mentioned earlier?--to the bunker and release Ailani. I gave her some of my strength, but I can’t keep her here long.” He shakes his head. “I did what I could.”

Sam guides Kerr back to the library, letting him drop gratefully into one of the soft, overstuffed chairs while Dean gets them all drinks. It feels a bit like habit, and despite the events of the morning he wants to smile at the thought. 

“So tell us what just happened,” Dean says. “You said you gave Leinani some of your power?” 

“That’s right,” Kerr confirms. “To help her materialize. She’s basically a ghost, like your friend Kevin.”

As though summoned, Kevin appears standing next to Sam, who flinches slightly. “Okay, can we never do that again?” he asks. “I really need to never do that again.”

“I know how you feel,” Kerr says wearily. “I’m Kerr, by the way, and this is Susan. You’re Kevin?”

Kevin nods. “What do you need me to do to? How can we set her free? I’ll do anything you need.”

“I have to rest first, at least for a little while,” Kerr tells him. “But after that, it’s going to take about two weeks to detach her completely and bind your soul in her stead.”

Kevin takes a deep breath, reflex Sam assumes. “I’m ready,” he says quietly. “I’m going to go check on Leinani, make sure she’s okay, but as soon as we can do this, I’m ready.”

After Kevin leaves, it’s not long before Kerr starts to nod off, drink in hand. Susan takes it from him gently. 

“I’m going to go clean up downstairs,” she tells Sam and Dean, standing up. “We’ll need the room to begin the binding spells.” 

“Sure,” Sam says. “Hold on, I’ll help. Dean, maybe you can go check on Jameson and Ailani? See if there’s anything they need?”

Dean nods, draining his glass as he stands. “Yeah, I should do that.” He shakes his head. “Hell of a day, Sammy, and it’s not even noon. But at least some good is going to come out of all this.”

Dean wanders down to the room Jameson and Ailani had chosen earlier. He can hear the faint sounds of conversation and laughter, a woman and a child. When he knocks on the door Jameson answers, eyes red and swollen. He steps outside, closing the door behind him. 

“Dean,” he says, and he sounds almost grateful for the interruption. “Did you need something?”

“I just came down to ask you the same thing,” Dean tells him. “How are they doing?”

“Catching up, I guess,” Jameson says. “If you can call it that. Ailani read to her for awhile, and now they’re playing.” He smiles, a little sad. “This is the happiest and most energetic I’ve seen Ailani since she discovered Leinani was missing, but I don’t think either of them need me around right now.”

Dean frowns. “Are you sure? Kerr and Susan seemed to think there wasn’t a lot of time left.”

“I’m sure. Ailani is...and isn’t my wife. She has my wife’s form, and most of her memories from what I can tell, but her emotions...dragons don’t always think or feel the way we do. She won’t harm me for being near her child, but she won’t thank me either.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Dean says sincerely. “Listen, if they’re doing alright, why don’t I show you the garage? We’ve got some engines down there that can always use some love. Or maybe we can go back to the hangar. I think we could both use a distraction.”

Jameson smiles gratefully. “That sounds like exactly what I need,” he says. “Lead the way.”

The next few days are a bit of a blur for everyone. Sam does what he can to help Kerr and Susan set up the spells that will shift the energy drain of the bunker from Leinani to Kevin, soaking up whatever knowledge of magic and spell craft they’re willing to share. Dean spends most of his time with Jameson, trying to distract him from the tragedy playing out between the shell of his wife and the ghost child she loves. Ailani and Leinani wander the halls and the garden, talking and singing, and if it’s a little creepy to sometimes see Ailani talking to thin air, her thin face manic and eyes wild, neither Sam nor Dean can bring themselves to say anything.

And Sam dreams. Every night now, the same things. He’s convinced now that it’s Castiel he’s seeing, somehow, rather than Lucifer, but the angel hasn’t answered any of his calls. 

“Dean, I’m sure it’s him,” Sam insists as they’re going over the previous day in Sam’s room. “Something’s going on with him, I think he might be in some kind of trouble.”

“Sam, he said he was going on vacation. He just took off. And to be honest, I don’t really care all that much if he comes back. The things he’s done? Fuck.” Dean shakes his head, annoyed all over again that the being they’d trusted over and over had betrayed them as many times as they’d taken him back. 

“I’m going to ask Kevin if he can reach him, since I can’t,” Sam says firmly. “It can’t hurt to make sure he’s alright.” 

“Sure, Sam,” Kevin says brightly, startling a curse out of Dean. “The last thing he told me was that he was going back to heaven, so I’ll try him there first.”

“Wait, I thought you said you weren’t allowed in heaven,” Dean says suspiciously. “And could you please quit sneaking up on us? Jesus.”

“I’m a ghost, Dean,” Kevin says drily. “I can’t exactly stomp my feet to let you know I’m here. And I’m not _technically_ allowed in heaven...but there are a few back doors. The angels always seem to know when I’m around and chase me off, but I bet I can get a bead on him before they catch me.”

With that he’s gone, leaving Dean to give Sam an exasperated glare. 

“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to regret going along with this binding idea?” he growls, and Sam just shrugs. 

“It was the best choice we had. We both know that. Hopefully he’ll figure out something like boundaries as time passes.” Sam pauses, remembering. “You know, I found something interesting today. Remember how this branch of the Men of Letters and supposedly our ancestors in particular were crazy assholes?”

Dean nods. “What did we do this time?” he asks, not really sure he wants to know. The torture and death of a child is enough of a burden to bear. 

“It’s more what we didn’t do,” Sam says. “I found more references to that Werther guy--turns out _his_ ancestors were some of the original founders--and also part of the delegation that went to Hawaii to discuss founding this chapter.”

“So you’re saying that our ancestors didn’t do this,” Dean says slowly, and smiles. “Well, I guess that’s something. I’m glad we’ve got the chance to set things right, though. Or at least as right as they can be.”

They spend a few hours cleaning up around the bunker--dishes and laundry, mostly--and running into town for supplies. Feeding five people instead of two is taxing Dean’s repertoire, but he’s risen to the challenge admirably, and tonight he wants to try something different, some kind of coconut chili curry that Jameson thinks he might be able to persuade Ailani to try. 

When they get back, Kevin is hanging out in Sam’s room again, waiting. 

“Hey, Kevin,” Sam greets him. “Did you find out where Cass is?” 

Kevin nods. “He’s in heaven, but I wouldn’t count on him being back anytime soon. You remember that big deal about how heaven’s internal mechanisms are falling apart because there aren’t enough angels to power everything anymore?”

Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean says, “Yeah, we remember--Cass killed most of the other angels at one point or another, or rather he and his followers did.” He frowns. “Are they punishing him for that?”

“Not exactly. From what I was able to gather from some of the other souls who’ve been there awhile, all the angels are required to give up some of their grace to maintaining heaven periodically. Cass hasn’t taken his turn since he came to earth, plus he killed practically everyone else who could. So now he’s making up for it.” Kevin shakes his head. “The souls I talked to said this happened before, when Lucifer rebelled, and they cannibalized human souls until there were enough angels and enough grace to keep everything running. It was pretty awful.”

Dean’s frown deepens. “That doesn’t sound like something Cass would do,” he argues. “Cass has never wanted to go back to heaven. Why would he be helping them now?”

“Dean…” Sam trails off, uncertain how much to say in the face of Dean’s obvious annoyance. “You know, Cass and I have been talking lately. About responsibility, about accepting the things we’ve done wrong and making amends. Maybe that’s what this is about.” He shivers. “Whatever it is, I don’t think he likes it much. I keep having these dreams...I think they might be from him but I can’t be sure. They might just be nightmares about Lucifer.”

Dean softens, looking at Sam with pleased surprise. “You know, little brother...there’s not many people who can say they made an _angel_ a better person. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

Sam can’t help the burst of happiness in his chest at Dean’s praise. “You don’t think we should rescue him? Or at least try?”

Dean’s already shaking his head before Sam even finishes the thought. “This is Castiel’s choice,” he says firmly. “Just like it was your choice to go into the Cage to atone--unnecessarily, I might add--for what happened with Lucifer. What right do we have to take that away from him?”

Sam shivers again, remembering. “You’re right, I guess. I just...it’s so cold, wherever he is. If it’s him. I wake up in the morning feeling like I’ll never be warm again.”

Dean looks at him with concern. “Dude. Why didn’t you tell me it was getting bad again? We could have done something--”

“It’s probably nothing,” Sam says, embarrassed to be a problem, again. “We’ve all got too much on our minds to worry about dreams.”

“Speaking of which…” Kevin interrupts. He sounds a little nervous when he continues. “Kerr told me he and Susan are finished with their prepwork. They want to start the transfer tomorrow, and they and Jameson want to talk to you guys about the details.”

Sam offers Kevin his hand. “You’re doing a good thing, Kevin,” he says softly. “I know this has got to be scary, but thank you for doing this for Ailani and Leinani. Everyone here appreciates your sacrifice.”

Kevin shakes Sam’s hand, a clammy buzz of energy zinging up Sam’s arm. “Thanks, Sam. I’m a little nervous, but I think it’s going to be okay.” He steps back, and Sam tries not to show his relief when the buzz under his skin fades. “I think I’m going to try getting back into heaven and see if I can find Castiel. Those dreams you described...if that’s him in your dreams, I want to know for sure that he’s okay before I go under.” He offers Dean his hand as well before he disappears, and Sam’s not surprised to see Dean shiver and wipe his hand on his pants as they leave the room to go find the others. 

They find Susan and Kerr in the library, books and notes scattered around them, the remnants of lunch shoved off to one side to go cold. It’s so reminiscent of nights spent researching with Dean that Sam can’t help but smile a little. 

“Sam, Dean.” A spot at the table is quickly cleared for the two of them, and the brothers each take a seat. “We’ve been wanting to talk to you about the next step in releasing Leinani and binding Kevin to the bunker.”

“Of course,” Sam says easily. “Whatever you need us to do.”

“Well…” Susan glances at Kerr, who clears his throat. 

“It’s more about what we need you to _not_ do,” he says, watching them with concern. “Which is...be here. As you’ve probably noticed, Leinani is very weak, much weaker than a spirit is usually allowed to become before the transfer. I’ve been feeding her as much energy as I can, and so has Kevin, but that’s very limited. And since the spell is usually worked by two magic users, I’m going to need all my strength to make this work.”

“So what we thought was...maybe the two of you could accompany me back to  
Hawaii to pick up some supplies and an assistant to help with the spell?” Susan doesn’t sound all that hopeful that they’ll agree. “That way there’s one less person here stressing the bunker’s resources and...a little more privacy for Jameson and Ailani. Not that they aren’t grateful for all the help you’ve given them,” she hastens to add. “It’s just a difficult time for them.”

“You want us to leave our home to a bunch of strangers and go on a tropical vacation?” 

Dean doesn’t sound as skeptical as Sam thought he might, probably because they’d done practically the same thing with the hunters from the alternate universe last year. Minus the tropical vacation, of course. 

Kerr laughs. “Something like that, I guess. We can find another way if you’d rather, of course. But every hunter needs a break now and then, and our Men of Letters branch is very interested in meeting the two of you, and showing you the ropes in maintaining your own branch. There’s really not a lot to it, mostly just showing you some of the bells and whistles you may not have discovered on your own.” 

Sam looks at Dean, trying not to use his _puppy dog eyes_, as Dean likes to call them, because he knows how much Dean hates flying. He really likes the sound of this, a lot, but he’s not going to pressure Dean into doing something as stressful as flying just because he himself wants it. 

Dean groans internally because _fuck_. He can tell Sam is trying not to go all _adorable little brother_ on him, but for crying out loud. If the kid had a tail it would probably be wagging hopefully right now. On the other hand, he _has_ been kind of itching to take that plane for a test drive now that he and Jameson have spent so much time working on it and going over how it runs. He lets Sammy stew for a few more minutes, because what else is a big brother gonna do, but in the end he can’t resist.

“All right, Sammy. You win. Pack your bags, we’re going to Hawaii.”


End file.
